


The Approaching Night

by clawstoagunfight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Bathtubs, Biting, Bottom Derek, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Experimental Style, Future Fic, Hair-pulling, Knotting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sweet Sex, Switching, Top Stiles Stilinski, i guess, sex in front of a fireplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’ll go like this; he’ll be waiting for you, one night, when you least expect it, standing at your front door, letting the rain beat down on him, soak into his tired bones, making him ache to hold you and steal what little warmth you’ll offer. But he’ll smile at you—a real, honest smile—teeth all white and stark in the dark night, and you’ll smile back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Approaching Night

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd, so all of the mistakes are mine! (And feel free to point them out to me.)
> 
> I wanted to experiment a little with my writing, so I decided to do the most difficult thing I could think of: 2nd person pov and future tense. I'm not sure if it works, but...have the smut anyway. 
> 
> Also, this fic is for my amazing [tumblr](http://clawstoagunfight.tumblr.com/) followers and friends. I asked them some questions about what I should do for this and I went with the consensus. Thanks guys!
> 
> And, the title of this fic comes from the song [The Approaching Night](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvzEA0BMwf0), which I strongly encourage you all to listen to, because it is beautiful.

It’ll go like this; he’ll be waiting for you, one night, when you least expect it, standing at your front door, letting the rain beat down on him, soak into his tired bones, making him ache to hold you and steal what little warmth you’ll offer. But he’ll smile at you—a real, honest smile—teeth all white and stark in the dark night, and you’ll smile back.

You’ll be walking a little faster up the stairs to the porch, wanting to get out of the cold rain that’ll slowly be seeping through your jacket. It’ll be late. You don’t know how late, but you’ll feel exhausted after a long day of doing the job you love. Derek won’t be there every day, but it will be a near thing, and you’ll know what to do, what to give him, when he is. So you’ll unlock your front door, usher him inside, flip on the lights while you strip out of your wet clothes then and there. He’ll do the same, leaving all the clothes in a pile that you’ll wash and dry later, but you’ll have all night, so you let them be. You’ll walk over to the fireplace, turn on the gas and watch it come to life, sitting down on the couch to watch the flames dance. He’ll come over and sit next to you, clad in only his underwear, just as you are, and you’ll pull him into your chest, run your hands up and down his sides, trying to warm him. He’ll grab a blanket—the one that’ll be folded over the back of the couch, the one your mother made—and pull it over both of you. He’ll turn, so that he’ll be lying between your legs with his chest to your stomach, and he’ll rub his cold nose against you, and you’ll laugh a little before he’ll set his cheek against your skin. You’ll watch him watch the fire, see the way the flickering light of the flames will play over his skin, dancing across his eyes, deepening their color. You’ll think to yourself that it makes him look like the fire is simmering inside of him, but then you’ll just smile a little and reach out to run your fingers through his hair like you’ll know he likes.

You’ll stay like that for a while, until you both warm up, until his skin will be back up to the slightly-warmer-than-average temperature that you’ll learn werewolves run at. He’ll pull off the blanket and you’ll shiver a little at the sudden burst of cool air, but he’ll just press himself closer, wrap his arms around your waist. He’ll press a soft kiss to your stomach and then look up your torso at you to meet your eyes. You’ll move the hand from his hair down to cup his cheek and you’ll bite your lip when he closes his eyes and nuzzles against your palm, scraping his stubble over the roughness of your fingertips. He’ll sigh—a little, almost inaudible, ghost of a thing—but you’ll take it for what it is, slide the hand on his cheek to the back of his neck and pull him toward you. He’ll come willingly, moving up your body until he’ll press your chests flush, and you’ll close the remaining distance, bringing your mouths together—just a little, just a fleeting taste—and it won’t be enough. You’ll fist a hand up into his hair, tilt your head, bring your mouths back together. He’ll melt against you, into the kiss, his lips warm and firm. His hands will start to move, up and down over your mostly-naked body, over the soft hairs and moles and freckles. He’ll press his fingertips into all of your dips and hollows, trace your contours, follow the lines of your limbs with his open palm, make your skin burn and your blood heat. You’ll smooth a hand down his back, over the ridges of bone, feel the muscles flex beneath your fingers. He’ll kiss you like he needs you, and you’ll think that right now, maybe he does, so you’ll kiss him back, deep and slow, sliding tongues and lips; tasting.

He’ll be the first to move, lifting himself up to straddle your waist. Your hands will fall to his hips and you’ll slowly bring them down, raking your fingernails over the insides of his exposed thighs. He’ll shudder, move his hips, grind his ass down against your erection. You’ll make a sound; he’ll smile before he repeats the motion and you’ll throw your head back against the arm of the couch, but then he’ll be bending down to kiss you once more. He’ll move his lips to your cheek, jaw, bite a little at the skin, lay open-mouthed kisses down your throat, lick at your collarbones. Then he’ll move a little lower, capture one of your nipples between his teeth, bite down just enough to make you gasp and grab his hips, thrust up against him. He’ll moan around your nipple, release the nub and soothe it with his tongue, suck it back into his mouth and you’ll think how much you want him to suck your dick like that, want to feel that warm, wet suction lower, want to sink into the pleasure that he’ll offer you. He’ll move his mouth away, blow cold air over it that will make your whole body shiver before he moves to the other nipple to give it the same treatment, just as he’ll know you like.

You’ll move your hands behind him, under the band of his underwear, grab fistfuls of his ass, squeeze hard while you’ll rock your hips up into him. He’ll take his mouth away, look at you with heavy eyes and swollen lips, say your name, and you’ll let him pull you and the blanket to the floor. He’ll lay out the blanket on the rug in front of the fire and then pull you to your knees, mirroring him. You’ll kiss at his neck, scrape your teeth over the stubble at his throat, a little too rough, too hard, but just the way Derek will need it. You’ll pull away soon, though, sliding off his underwear before you’ll grab his shoulders and push him back until he’ll be sprawled out on the floor, looking up at you. You’ll gentle your touch after that, grin at him while he stares at you, biting his lower lip. You’ll crawl over to him, watch the firelight play on his face and he’ll watch it play on yours, before you’ll ask for him to turn over, whisper the words, press your lips just barely against his.

He’ll nod, rubbing his nose against yours in an Eskimo kiss, breathing the same air as you for a moment before you’ll move back, sit on your haunches and watch him get to his hands and knees. He’ll look back at you after a moment, spread his knees, lower himself to his elbows so he’ll be able to see you better. He’ll ask if this is okay and you’ll let out an unsteady breath. It’ll always make you feel this way, you’ll know, to see him like this, so many shades of comfortable and relaxed, watching you with a look that will pull at something deep inside. You’ll nod your approval, crawl over to him, run your hands up his legs. You’ll go from his ankles, to his knees—stopping to caress behind them, watch as Derek will shudder—up the backs of his thighs, trailing your fingernails through the dark hairs everywhere, and he’ll breathe your name.

You’ll stop at that, reach between his spread legs, cup his balls, roll them between your fingers. He’ll gasp and you’ll move your hand down to his erection, fisting the length, letting him fuck into the clasp of your digits, slip your thumb over the head again and again, press into the slit until he’ll be leaking precum. He’ll pant a little; you’ll see drops of sweat starting to slide down his back and you’ll lick at a little of it at the small of his back, press your tongue against the dip of the dimples above his ass cheeks. He’ll arch his back then and you’ll trail your tongue down, between his cheeks, follow the line of his body. You’ll move your hands up to his ass, kneed your fingers into the skin. He’ll whimper at the first touch of your tongue sweeping over his hole, hot and wet, but you’ll just keep working your fingers against his ass, use your grip to pull at it so you’ll be able to lick deeper, move your tongue right where you know he’ll want it most. You’ll pull back sometimes, biting at the skin of his ass, watch it color and bloom, before moving back between. He’ll move his hips back against your mouth, fuck himself on your tongue, moaning. You’ll know it for what it is, so you’ll move back once again, press the tip of a thumb against his saliva-wet hole. It’ll catch a little and you’ll moan when it finally pushes in, just the tip. You’ll move your mouth back down, thrust your tongue in alongside your thumb a few times, before you can feel the muscle there start to relax. You’ll pull back a little while later, after you’ve licked down his perineum, taken his balls into your mouth, pushed your thumb deeper inside of him.

He’ll reach back, run his hand through your sweat-slick hair, tell you that he wants you, that he needs you inside of him. You’ll nod, even as you feel your long-neglected erection leak against your stomach, where the tip will be trapped beneath the band of your boxers. Suddenly it’s all you’ll feel; the aching want between your legs. You’ll stand, strip out of your boxers, and tell him you’ll be right back. Your dick will bob up and down as you walk the short distance to your bedroom, going right for where you’ll have left the lube last.

You’ll return back to the living room as fast as you can, but you’ll stop when you make it to the edge of the blanket. Derek will be laying there, throw pillow from the couch beneath his hips, fist pumping his cock. He’ll be looking at you like you’re the sun and he’s just there to gravitate toward you. You’ll kneel down in front of him, open the lube and slick up your fingers. You’ll warm it up before you bend over him, capturing his lips, moving your slick fingers over his hole, then you’ll press one in. He’ll shudder; you’ll watch his eyes close and his jaw go slack, wordless, even as he tightens around your finger. But you’ll wait, until he’s relaxed and pliant, moving your finger inside of him. You’ll add in another and he’ll groan, his hands snaking up your back until he’ll settle them in your hair. You’ll move your wrist, twisting and flexing your fingers, scissoring to stretch him a little more. He’ll gasp in a shaky breath when you caress that spot inside of him, opening his bleary, glassy eyes, the color all but eclipsed by his blown pupils. He’ll beg you for more, tell you he wants another finger, say something about your fucking amazing hands, and you’ll give it to him, work all three in and out, adding more lube until he’s wet and open and panting against your mouth, his fingers moving from your hair to your shoulders, where they’ll leave marks come morning.

He’ll tell you that he’s ready, so ready, wants you, wants all of you, and you’ll moan at the words. You think he’ll always make you feel like this, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, something that will draw him out of the shadows and into your arms. You’ll savor it while you look at him for a long moment as you pull your fingers out. You don’t ask him if you should wear a condom, because you’ll know that he hates the feel of them, so instead you’ll just pour a little more lube onto your fingers, work it over your own cock, bend down to nip at his bottom lip. You’ll rub yourself along his crack, move the head of your cock against his hole. You’ll stop to ask if he’s sure, if he’s ready, and he’ll just nod, nod, say your name.

So, you’ll slip an arm under his thigh, hook your elbow under his knee to make more room, lower yourself to take one of his swollen, hard nipples into your mouth while you’ll slowly—slowly—push yourself inside of him. He’ll gasp for breath—keep gasping even as his body shudders around you, against you—until you’ll move your hips, infinitesimally, and he’ll let out the most perfect sound. It’s something between a moan and a cry of pleasure and he’ll immediately bite his lip to keep the sound in, but you’ll let go of his nipple, drag your lips over his skin, say no, that you want to hear all of the sounds he makes, that you want to hear what you do to him, and he’ll make that sound again, unfiltered. You’ll start moving your hips in earnest after that, still slow, still easy, circling your pelvis, moving yourself inside of him so that he feels every inch of you.

He’ll moan your name, tell you harder, faster, but you’ll keep your pace. You won’t always be able to take your time like this, and you’ll cherish it. You’ll lift your head from where you’ll have been sucking bruises into the crook of his shoulder—sucking, watching them disappear as you pull away, sucking, biting, wanting to tattoo yourself into his skin. You’ll look at him, see his face, neck, chest—flushed. You’ll see the color high on his cheeks, even beneath the thick, dark growth there, see his lips wet and pink, swollen, and you’ll lean down to nibble at them, suck the bottom lip into your mouth, fuck your tongue against his. He’ll wrap his muscled arms around you, slide his hand all over your sweaty skin, lower them until they cup your ass. He’ll use it as leverage to try to make you thrust harder, but you’ll just snake your other arm under his other leg and press his legs to his chest, change the angle enough to make him cry out, throw his head back.

You’ll moan when you feel a dry finger flit over your asshole, fuck into him sharply—hard and fast—and you’ll both lose your breath for a moment. He’ll look at you—and from this close, you won’t be able to see anything else but his eyes in the firelight—and he’ll ask you if he can. You’ll nod fervently, switching your pace to slow pumps in and quick drags out. He’ll reach out for the discarded lube, whimpering at the change in angle for a moment before he’ll settle back, popping the lube behind your back. He’ll hook his chin over your shoulder to make it easier to see what he’ll be doing. Then you’ll feel him press a lubed finger against your hole. You’ll be tight, coiled up from being so close already, just from the feel of him around you, but you’ll will yourself to relax, to spread your legs as much as you can without losing your rhythm. He’ll slip a finger in easily and you’ll moan against his throat. He’ll run his spare hand up and down your back, all the while he’ll be panting harshly in your ear, telling you how tight you are, how good you feel inside of him. He’ll lower his hand eventually and bring it to grab at one of your ass cheeks, pull you open a little so that he’ll be able to add in a second digit. You won’t really feel the stretch, too busy rocking your body into his, lost in the drag of your cock inside of him.

You’ll get lost in him—the smell of your sex, the taste of the salt and sweat that will be on his skin, the feel of him all around you, his fingers inside, the sounds he makes and the ones you’ll answer them with, the sight of him falling apart under you. You won’t even notice the third finger until the burn of the stretch registers. You’ll always manage to forget how much thicker, fuller, his fingers feel inside of you than your own. They’ll move, twist, until they press against your prostate—so hard, so firm—your vision will black out for a moment and his name will be ripped from your throat. He’ll bring his lips to yours, then, capture the sounds you make, even as his chest starts to heave and his body starts to shake. You’ll feel the tremors starting yourself, feel the way your arms will begin to tremble, still holding his legs up, feel the way your thighs will start to burn from the slow pace you’ve kept. You’ll feel Derek’s cock dragging across your stomach, slicking up your abs. He’ll whimper when you thrust harder, when your balls will start to tighten and you’ll grind your hips to his, wanting to be as deep inside of him as you’ll be able to. He’ll do the same, pushing his fingers—up to four, now—in as deep as they’ll be able to go, crooking just right, just enough.

He’ll come before you do, untouched, body writhing, back arching, legs trembling, whimpering; you’ll feel the warm-wet of it against your stomach. You’ll follow after a few more thrusts, giving yourself over to the almost violent way he’ll tighten around you, to the way his fingers will have never stopped their assault inside of you. You’ll moan his name, again and again, shudder through your own orgasm until your body goes limp. All you’ll feel is your heartbeat—in your chest, your head, in your arms, fingertips, your legs. You’re vision will be nothing but spots; colorless. The world will be soundless for an infinite moment. But then you’ll come back to the feel of his hands stroking over your back and you’ll lift your heavy head to look at him. He’ll look so relaxed, content, and then he’ll open his eyes and smile—and you’ll know you put it on his face, that you’re the only one who’ll be able to make him look like that.

You’ll pull out, gently, and let go of his limbs, roll over onto the blanket on your side next to him. His hand will reach out to grasp yours and he’ll lace your fingers together before you’ll pull him so that he’s also on his side. You’ll pillow your head with your arm and just look at him for a moment and then he’ll close the distance between you, press a chaste kiss to your forehead. You’ll hum at him, take your hand from his to push his sweaty hair back from his face. You’ll run your fingers over the planes of his face, sweep your thumb across his lips. He’ll open them, take your thumb into his mouth. You’ll let out a shaky breath, already feeling your cock start to twitch. You’ll look down the line of where your bodies aren’t quite touching and see—he’s still hard— _still_. You’ll know by now what that means, so you’ll suck in a loud breath.

He’ll flush a little, nip at the thumb in his mouth, but look at you unapologetically. You’ll sit up and shiver when you feel the cool air on your back, since your front is still facing the fire. He’ll get up onto his elbow, watching you. It won’t take you long to make the decision. You’ll pull him toward you, until he’s getting up to crawl over, and you’ll grin at him when you push him down. He’ll make a sound that resembles an ‘oof’ and then you’ll straddle his waist. His hands will go straight to your hips. He’ll run his thumbs over your hipbones and ask you if your sure, say that you don’t have to. All you’ll do is look for the discarded bottle of lube and squirt some more onto your fingers. You’ll still be slick and loose from when he fingered you, so you’ll reach behind yourself and run your lubed up hand over his shaft. He’ll let out a hiss at the contact, even though fingers will flex into your skin and he’ll cant his hips against your ass, drag his cock along your crack. You’ll let out a sound at the feel of him rutting against you. You’ll reach your other hand behind you to settle it against his thigh while you lift yourself up, grab his cock again and line the head up with your entrance. It’ll feel so good pressing in—so thick and hot and solid—and you’ll bite your lip, close your eyes.

He’ll pinch one of your nipples between his fingers and you’ll let out a moan, even as you’ll bat his hand away. He’ll run his hand down your chest and tell you that he wants to hear all the sounds you make. You’ll start to roll your eyes at him, but then his grip on your hips will become vice-like and he’ll piston his own hips up, thrusting hard and fast into you, filling you in the one fluid motion. You’ll shout out an obscenity, move your hands to settle on his chest for leverage before you’ll look down at him, smirk playing across his handsome face. You’ll lift your hips, bring them down hard and fast, swivel them on the downward motion and grind your ass down against him. You’ll make the smirk on his face go away, reduce him to just moaning your name. You’ll set the pace—again—but this time, hard and fast. It’ll be something that’s just this side of too much, too rough. You’ll move your fingers over his chest until you find his nipples, still a little swollen and just as hard. You’ll rub your thumbs over them before you’ll tweak them between your fingers, knowing that he’ll love the feel of your coarse fingertips on his sensitive skin.

You’ll be fully hard now, aching, already feeling the way your body is beginning to tighten, but you won’t want it to be over, not yet, so you slow the pace, reduce your rhythm to something slow and languid. He’ll groan at the loss, tell you that he was getting close, and then sit up all at once, wrapping his arms around you, drag the both of you back against the couch, so that he’s sitting up and leaning against it. You’ll still be in his lap, but now you’ll be face-to-face. You’ll be looking into his eyes when you start to move again, then tilt your head and let his mouth attach itself to nibbling at your earlobe. You’ll let out a moan, rock your hips down enough to feel the delicious slide of him inside of you, feel the friction of your cock trapped between both of your cum-covered stomachs. He’ll bring one of his hands up and slide it into your hair. He’ll tug—just the way you’ll like it—before he’ll scrape his teeth down over your collarbones.

You’ll be panting against his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his neck to get enough leverage to keep fucking down on him. He’ll pull you closer, closer, one hand still in your hair; the other wrapped around your back will slide down, down, until it’ll be ghosting along your crack, pressing just barely against your rim. You’ll make a sound—like a whine—when he presses it in alongside his cock. You’ll breathe his name—or maybe you’ll yell it—and tell him to touch you, that you need him to touch you. So his finger will disappear from your ass and his hand will move between your bodies, will grip your cock for the first time all night and you’ll all but sob from relief at the feel of it.

He’ll jack you slowly, juxtaposing the way his hips keep snapping hard and fast against yours. He’ll stroke his thumb over your slit, press into it until you feel like you won’t be able to breathe ever again. He’ll tell you not yet—voice husky and low, wrecked sounding—and you’ll nod in agreement. He’ll shift a little bit, look into your eyes, lick into your mouth—then you’ll feel it. He’ll slow his thrusts, rotate his hips, grind himself against you. His knot will swell inside of you, catch on your rim with every upward thrust—you’ll beg for it, tell him how much you want it inside of you, how good it feels, stretching you so open, pressing against you just right, how much you want him to come inside of you. You’ll feel the knot grow even more at your words and Derek will pant out your name—fuck, fuck fuck—and bite down on your shoulder, trapping the skin between his teeth.

You’ll cry out, body starting to shake from the pleasure of too much, _too much_ , but it won’t stop you from lifting yourself up and down as much as you can, from letting the knot inside of you pull and tug and rub against your insides. He’ll let out a sound against your shoulder, let go of the skin and suck the mark into his mouth. He’ll start to move his hand over your cock again; you won’t remember when he stopped, but now that he’s started up again it’s all you’ll be able to think about—solid, warm, slick, twisting and pulling just the way you’ll like.

You’ll tell him you’re going to come and he’ll tighten the grip on your cock, work you faster, pull harder at your hair and rut into you with almost vicious thrusts that will steal your breath and make your vision gray out. You’ll feel his knot press firmly against your prostate, massaging it with the girth. You’ll come with tears leaking from your eyes, the pleasure cresting inside of you like a wave that feels like it’s drowning you. You’ll shudder, shake, keen out Derek’s name again and again as he keeps moving his hips, milking the last of your orgasm from your body until your cum will add to the sticky wetness between your bodies For a moment you won’t be able to remember how to drag in air, won’t remember how your lungs work, and then you’ll gasp in heaving lungfuls of oxygen and sag against him. He’ll come with a shout—a cry, something violent—grind into you like your bodies aren’t already as close as they could possibly be. He’ll thrash against you, body bowing taut like a string before it snaps, and then he’ll still under you.

Eventually, he’ll let go of your cock, loosen his grip on your hair, press soft kisses to your cheeks, your closed eyelids, to the upturn of your nose. He’ll run his hands over your face, cup your jaw, rub his nose against yours. He’ll move suddenly, gracefully stand up while he’ll still be locked inside of you, careful not to jostle you too much. He’ll sway a little before he’ll catch himself on the wall and you’ll chuckle a little into his neck, press your lips to his skin, tell him with your wrecked voice that you love when you can make him stumble from sex. He’ll huff a breath, but just secure you in his arms.

He’ll take you straight to the bathroom, sit down on the lip of the tub to lean over and turn the water on—a little awkward with you still in his arms. By the time the water will be warm enough and the tub full enough, the knot will have gone down, so he’ll slip out of you—slowly. You’ll hiss at the sensation anyway; your body will already have started to feel the soreness setting in. But then he’ll lower you into the water—not scalding like how he’ll like it, but just the way he’ll know you do—and then he’ll climb into the tub behind you. The water will slosh a little over the sides, but you won’t bring yourself to care. The water eases your muscles and you’ll lean back into Derek’s solid body, rest your head against his shoulder and look up at him. You’ll reach an arm out from the water to slip behind his head and bring his mouth down to yours. He’ll hum against your lips and you’ll sigh, full of contentment.

It’ll be later—after he’s washed your hair, cleaned your body of the sweat and the come, after you’ve gotten your bearings back and followed his example, cleaning him as well—that you decide to ask him. He’ll be rubbing at your shoulders, digging his thumbs into a particular tight muscle, careful of the bite mark he left earlier, still sitting behind you in the now tepid water. It’s something you’ll have been thinking about for a while now, something you’ll always struggle not to bring up when you see him, but this time, you’ll ask him. You’ll ask him to move in with you, to share the space that will have lately become so empty without him. You’ll tell him, finally— _finally_ —that you love him, that you can’t imagine a life without him in it. You tell him that you don’t want to only have him for the nights, that you want to wake up with him beside you.

You’ll go still when he stops moving his hands against your skin; you’ll feel your heart stutter in your chest when he doesn’t say anything. You won’t even be sure if you’re breathing until he pulls you back, flush against his chest, wrapping a solid arm around you, using his other hand to tilt your chin back. He’ll ask you to look at him, please look at him, and you will; you’ll lose yourself again in his eyes, in the way he’ll be stroking his fingers along your cheek, crooning words into your ear that you’ll have never heard him say before—love, yes, always.

Maybe it won’t be everything you’ll have always thought you wanted, but you’ll know at that moment that it’ll be the only thing you’ll ever really need.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any and all comments and/or criticisms are accepted and appreciated!


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